


Two Halves of a Whole

by thekingslover



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26654782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingslover/pseuds/thekingslover
Summary: Nicky keeps feeling like something’s missing. Like he’s forgotten the name of an important thing and it’s sitting, impatient, at the tip of his tongue. He can’t recall. Or he doesn’t know. It’s all terribly confusing, and so, so frustrating.(soulmate/modern au)
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 67
Kudos: 800





	Two Halves of a Whole

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my nickyjoe tumblr sideblog, monicashipsnickyjoe. Main blog is thekingslover.

Nicky has a nervousness about him that he’s never been able to explain. He keeps feeling like something’s missing. Like he’s forgotten the name of an important thing and it’s sitting, impatient, at the tip of his tongue. He can’t recall. Or he doesn’t know. It’s all terribly confusing, and so, so _frustrating_.

He’ll walk down the street, see a family of duckings that makes him smile, and turn to his right to tell… someone. No one’s there.

Sometimes, when he’s tired, he’ll order two coffees at the shop on the corner, making one much sweeter than he likes it. Only when he walks away does he remember he’s alone.

When his friends encourage him, he goes to bars. He meets men, and occasionally he will let them touch his arm or his shoulder or his thigh from the bar stool beside his. Sometimes, he lets them kiss him. Never, is he able to ignore the feeling of _wrong_ that prickles over his skin and twists in his stomach. Always, he leaves without them. If he has their number, he will delete it before he gets home.

Tonight, he cooks at the stove. He doesn’t realize he’s made any mistakes until, holding two plates, he thinks of something Booker said at work and turns, ready to share. There are two chairs at Nicky’s table. Both are empty. Nicky looks at his hands, and cursing, leaves one plate on the counter and takes the other into the living room. He sits on the couch, plate on his lap, and turns up the sound on the tv until he forgets that he’s forgotten.

The next morning, on his way to work, he sees a selection of sketchpads in an art store window. He buys one, and a set of charcoals. He carries the bag proudly until he gets to the office, to the cubicle he shares with Booker, and realizes with a deep sigh and heavy frown that he does not draw.

Booker looks at the bag, then at him. He lifts one lone brow. “You start taking art classes?”

Groaning, Nicky throws the bag under the desk and collapses into the chair. Whatever this is, it’s getting worse. What started as tri-monthly slip-ups are turning into daily routines. “Maybe I should see a doctor,” Nicky says.

“Maybe.” Booker scratches his chin. Behind him, on his computer screen, a game of solitaire is opened over the report he is supposed to be writing. “Or it could just be what it obviously is.”

“Don’t start.”

“Soulmates, Nicky,” Booker says.

Nicky rolls his eyes. “Be serious.”

Booker swivels his chair the whole way toward Nicky and leans forward. “I am serious.” He’s not smirking. That is his serious face.

But soulmates?

“I’d have better odds at the lottery,” Nicky says. He’s seen thousands of soulbonds… in movies. To find one in real life is a one in a billion chance. More, perhaps. Nicky is just a regular guy with a bachelor’s degree in philosophy he doesn’t use, a desk job that he hates, and a caffeine addiction. Normal. Boring. Not near special enough to catch the attention of another person’s soul.

“Maybe you should play the numbers, then.” Booker twists his chair back toward his desk.

“Soulmates,” Nicky huffs. He shucks off his coat and starts his computer. “Ridiculous.”

*

Across town, Joe has purchased two coffees, one much too bitter for him. When he realizes, he’s so excited, he nearly drops them both. He stops on the street, places both coffees on the ledge of a windowsill, and opens his phone.

“Nile,” he says before she even finishes saying, “Hello?”

“It happened again.” Joe can’t stop laughing. “That makes everyday this week!”

“That’s great, Joe.”

“Do you think I’ll meet him soon?” Joe bounces on his feet. “If it’s happening everyday, then surely -”

“Maybe? I mean, who knows? There’s not a lot of concrete info on this stuff,” Nile says. There’s a yawn in her voice. He woke her - _again_. They go to the same college - Nile for the first time, Joe for the second - but their shared classes aren’t until the afternoon. He feels a little bad about it now. It dampens his spirits somewhat. “Except movies, but who knows if those are right.”

Joe tries to reel in his excitement. “Right. Of course.”

Nile must be able to tell, because she immediately perks, brightening her voice. “But, Joe. If it takes a little time, it will be worth it, right? He’s out there. You just have to find him.”

“Thank you, Nile.” Joe’s smile presses his cheek tightly to his phone. “I am sorry I woke you.”

“Swing by, bring me that coffee, and we’ll call it even.”

“I promise.” Joe hangs up.

He thinks of the groceries that stock his cabinets at home. More pasta than he’s ever needed before. 

He thinks of the book of Roman philosophers that he purchased that now sits on his coffee table, waiting.

He smiles at a family of ducklings he sees by a pond, and turns, ready to tell the person beside him. No one is there.

_Yet_.

“Soulmates,” Joe tells the ducks. “Amazing.”

*

The following day, it’s raining when Nicky leaves the office. He doesn’t have an umbrella, so with a lengthy sigh, he hunches his shoulders and presses forward. The rain is cold on the back of his neck and he shivers. But once you are wet, you can’t be _more wet_ , so there is some comfort in that.

He makes it to the bus stop and sneezes.

“Bless you,” says the man already there, standing beside the soaked bench. He has a blue umbrella open, hiding his face, and another, this one green, closed, tucked under his arm.

“ _Grazie_ ,” Nicky says and wipes his nose with his sleeve. It’s damp, but so is everything.

The blue umbrella shifts up a little. Nicky looks the other way, down the street, for the bus. Something nudges him in the side. He looks, and it’s the handle of the spare, green umbrella.

“May I tell you a story,” the man offering it says. Nicky looks up into a pair of warm brown eyes and a wide, welcoming smile. Soft-looking curls cover his head, and a well-groomed beard rounds his face. He’s wearing a leather jacket with a t-shirt underneath. Paint splotches cover both, in a rainbow of colors. 

Nicky, stunned by this man’s beauty, can only nod. The man moves the umbrella, poking him again, and Nicky takes it. He doesn’t open it, though, he can’t get his hands to cooperate.

“I saw the weather report this morning,” the man says, voice so bright and happy, it warms Nicky up from the inside out. “And I grabbed two umbrellas before I left the house. Two. I didn’t even think about it until I walked into the studio and my friend noticed.”

He’s looking at Nicky and Nicky should say something. He tries, “That’s interesting.”

The man looks at the umbrella in Nicky’s hands, at the way he’s clutching it and not opening it. He takes a step closer, so that his open blue umbrella covers them both.

This close, Nicky can only see freckles.

“I have a question to ask,” the man says, “and I really hope the answer is yes.”

Nicky swallows hard. He nods.

“Do you like bitter coffee, pasta, and philosophy?”

Nicky’s breath catches in his throat. It cannot be possible, but… if it is. And if it is this man… Nicky’s heart leaps out of his chest with hope.

He clears his throat, he must find words now. “Do you…” Nicky stops and tries again. “Are you an artist, do you like things too sweet, and do you notice the ducklings?”

If Nicky thought this man’s smile was bright before, he was mistaken. For now, it is a beaming sun, pushing back all the gray. 

“I love the ducklings,” the man says.

Any moment now, Nicky will awake, having fallen asleep at his desk, and Booker will mock him.

Instead, the voice in Nicky’s heart whispers, _This one_ , and he knows.

The man reaches out a hand and places it on Nicky’s chest. Nicky must look like hell, drenched in rain, but this man stares at him with open reverence like he can see the moon in his eyes.

“Hello, my heart,” the man says. “I have been looking for you.”

Nicky’s having trouble with full sentences again, so he takes a step closer instead.

“My shared soul,” the man continues, speaking for them both now. He knows the words Nicky’s heart whispers. “My light. My warmth.”

He motions to himself, then. “Joe.”

Nicky does the same. “Nicky.”

“Nicky,” Joe repeats, and it takes all Nicky has not to melt into a puddle on the sidewalk, ready to be washed away with the rain. 

“Joe,” Nicky says, and it’s sudden relief. The word he could never quite remember right there on the tip of his tongue. He says it again, loving the feel of it in his mouth. “ _Joe_.”

It’s perfect. It’s everything.

Later, Nicky will cook the pasta in Joe’s cabinets, and Joe will sketch Nicky with the charcoal. 

For now, Nicky places his hand over Joe’s on his chest and knows he’s home.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


End file.
